


Help

by Elle_Smith



Series: The Heero Torture Series [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Heero Torture Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 08:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10613379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Smith/pseuds/Elle_Smith
Summary: The first installment of "The Heero Torture Series", using the prompt word "Help".





	

It all started as an innocent-enough game. People around the Preventer HQ office had noticed that their fellow agent, a rumored former-Gundam pilot, lacked a certain term in his vocabulary. A term of a courteous nature that was usually exchanged rather freely between individuals: _“help”_. Not something as dramatic as a cry for help, or a desperate plea for assistance, but your everyday _“could you help me out here….”_ kind of request. The guy simply didn’t ask for anyone’s help, as if he saw himself above others, and the moment people around the office began to notice the suddenly disturbing lack of use of the word, they began placing bets on who would be the first to wring the word out of said agent.

The endeavor, which had started off as nothing more than an office joke, was turned up a notch as the weeks went by and no winners were named. The joke went as far as HQ’s middle-management ranks and sometimes snickers could be heard even in the presence of a high-ranking officer after a failed attempt to coax the word out of the clueless agent. The efforts became bolder and bolder with time, becoming so obvious that even the agent in question, who usually didn’t pick up on sarcasm very easily, began to notice something was off.

And so it began. All bets were off the minute Heero Yuy realized he was being played. He had retaliated, stubbornly, thus raising the stakes. It was no longer enough to simply coax any version of the word “help” out of him. No. One had to make him _ask_ for it. The prize became so appealing that more and more agents joined the dare and the game took a dangerous turn, spreading beyond Headquarters. Wherever Heero went, whether on Earth or the Colonies, there was always someone there trying to make him ask for assistance. But Heero refused to succumb and found a way out of every attempt to exhort him to speak word, even if it meant dealing with all sorts of tasks and assignments on his own.

Getting an ex-Gundam pilot to admit defeat was no mean feat, forcing fellow Preventers – agents and administrative staff alike – to go to extremes. The game became cruel. So cruel, that management-level officers finally tried to put a stop to the madness. There was a penalty for participating, but the bet was already out of control. People knew that Heero would never rat on anyone or report any misconduct relating to such a personal matter. It was nearly impossible to get caught. The game became more and more devious as months went by. The end justified the means and nothing was left unexploited. The harder Heero resisted, the crueler the means that were used against him.

There were rumors that he had even considered quitting, but remained on the job purely out of spite. Sixteen months into the sick game, people began to lose interest. After a long stalemate, agents finally saw reason and abandoned their useless attempts to win the bet. Things slowly began to calm down and return to normal. The joke was over.

Therefore, it came as a complete surprise when news broke out that rookie agent Damien Schimmer of the NYC office, was standing trial for the culpable homicide of Heero Yuy. After almost reaching its inevitable end and dying out quietly, the joke had ended with the tragic and unwarranted death of its subject.

Schimmer, fresh out of the academy, had heard about the bet during training and wasn’t able to contain his enthusiasm when he had found himself assigned to the same task force as Yuy. Schimmer became determined to take the whole agency by surprise and win the bet.

He got his chance when the task force encountered heavy resistance during a big bust into an arms’ dealer warehouse on a dark NYC dock. They moved in under heavy fire, and although the mission was an overall success, the task force had suffered casualties. Yuy was among them; Schimmer wasn’t. As the remaining agents began to clear out and offer medical support to the injured, Schimmer saw an opportunity to play a winning hand and finally win the bet. Instead of offering help to the gravely injured agent, he had pulled out his smartphone, hit the video-capture button and told Heero that he would help him get to the med-evac station if only he would _finally_ say those words.

The evidence against him was right there at the trial, captured on camera:

 _“Ask for my help,”_ he had instructed, snickering like a jackass teenage bully while standing over the injured agent. Heero was sitting slumped against a pile of wooden crates, huddled in the corner and as limp as a rag doll, bleeding from nasty chest and stomach wounds. His head was leaning backwards against the crate, facing upwards. His eyes fell on Schimmer, rolling unnaturally in their sockets, since he couldn’t move his head. He remained stubbornly quiet, his blue eyes fierce, enraged.

 _“Come on, man!”_ Schimmer had urged and Heero’s bloodied face twisted in anger. He growled out a single word: _“No.”_

 _“Come on, already!”_ The rookie was beginning to sound anxious. _“Just say it and we’ll go!”_

Fresh blood trickled onto Heero’s bottom lip. He licked it sluggishly and repeated with a faltering: _“N-no.”_

His short answer came out choked. Blood sheeted down his chin. He coughed terribly, sputtering blood. Grimacing in pain, he tried to push off the crate, but fell back, his head lolling back bonelessly. He turned his eyes to Schimmer again, a hint of distress glimmering there. He was clearly asking for help.

 _“No man, I need you to **say it!** ”_ The rookie insisted in a whiny tone. _“Come on! Just play along already!”_ He moaned uneasily. _“It’s just a stupid joke and I could really use that money, man!”_

Heero closed his eyes, eyelids fluttering slowly, and shook his head weakly against the crate. He seemed to have resigned to his fate. He dragged a bloody arm up over his bleeding chest and coughed out more blood, shuddering pathetically.

 _“Oh shit,”_ Schimmer was heard saying behind the camera. He fell to his knees, dropping the phone next to Heero. The camera was still able to capture what went on.

Heero was rasping desperately for air, struggling to breathe. Schimmer’s hands were all over him, trying to ease his breathing by sitting him upright. But it was too late. Heero was already staring ahead with vague and glassy eyes, looking past Schimmer with a faintly pained expression. He inhaled a labored breath and let it out slowly. He didn’t take another. His chest stilled.

His body slouched in Schimmer’s hold and his head dropped limply to the side, wide dead eyes looking ahead in disbelief. He had died knowing no one would help him, even though help was right there.

The punishment, they said, was going to be severe. But most also knew that Schimmer wasn’t going to live long enough to see the end of his trial. Hence, no one was surprised when measures were imposed on the ignorant agent long before the judge got to make a decision. Damien Schimmer was found dead in his cell not long after his incarceration. It was as if the grim reaper himself had entered his cell in the dead of the night and slit his throat in his sleep. No evidence was left behind whatsoever. Nothing except the words left written in Schimmer’s blood on the wall above his bed: “ _Matthew 10:8″._

**Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, cast out demons. You received without paying; give without pay.**


End file.
